A/N: Total word count: 11140 :)

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Every year when July sixth rolls around, it's like all of America is celebrating my birthday with me.

The anniversary of the independence of the United States is always two days before, but with it being the huge affair it is, people celebrate practically the entire week. I've always had the privilege of feeling as though every grand fireworks display is for me, and tonight is no exception. It marks the eighteenth one, and it feels just as sweet as all the others.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Off on the other end of the house, I hear my mother's muffled exclamations of her being startled, but for me, it makes a rush go through my center.

Eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen!
I'm eighteen now.

"Are you ready?" My hands grip onto the white wooden banister at the top of the stairs, waiting to hear their reply from below.

Duff and Axl have been here for five minutes, and I haven't come down to see them yet. I also wouldn't let them up the stairs.

"I don't even know what I'm about to see, honey!" Duff calls back up to me gruffly, and I look beside me at Michelle, who rolls her eyes.

The hot pink, neon glittery sash and tiara were her idea. Both say "EIGHTEEN!" in bold letters, and the crown has fluffy pink feathers on it. Fitting. Perfect.

Michelle paid a visit to the local party store this morning, and I woke up to her spraying silly string in my face. A pint of strawberry ice cream was also waiting for me on the kitchen table, and my mother didn't even yell at me as I trailed blue and green foam all over the house while having sugar for breakfast.

Because I'm eighteen!

"Well are you ready?!" I holler, leaning forward as Michelle laughs beside me.

"Yes!"

Both Duff and Axl answer now, their impatience clear in their mutual tone.

I try not to let it put a damper on the festivities, but it does. Just a little.

I grab Michelle's arm as I begin to descend down the stairs, my black Converse slapping loudly against the wood as I adjust the tiara resting on my hair, hoping it's not getting tangled in my waves and curls.

And Axl's about to see me!

I let my nails drag along the railing as I continue down, Michelle right behind me.

Just as I'm about to do what I practiced, lift my arms up in the air in praise the second I'm visible to any eyes from down in the living room, I'm met with near screaming.

"What are you wearing?!"

"Go right back up there, both of you, or so help me God-"

I know there's a look of horror on my face as I stare from Duff, to Axl, to Michelle.

I can't help it as I pause on Axl, seeing past the look on his face that no-doubt mimics my own. At the red cascading down his shoulders, ripped band t-shirt missing sleeves, leather pants, cowboy boots, and what appears to be new ink on his lower forearm.

I don't even get a chance to ask if that's really a new tattoo, because Duff is yelling again.

"For the love of God," Duff leaves a hand on his hip over his black jeans as he gestures up towards us while looking to Axl, who appears tiny next to him.

It's even funnier because their outfits are so similar. Their concert attire, the earrings, everything. But today, Duff's wearing a bandana and not Axl.

"If I had known you were gonna get all dolled up, I would've marched up there ten minutes ago and picked two sheets out of the linen closet to put over you two-"

"It's my birthday, I'm eighteen, and I'm going to a concert! Of course I'm," I raise my hands in the air, ready to make quotation marks with my fingers "'All dolled up', Michael!"

I would hardly call a plain black, cotton off the shoulder top, high waisted jean shorts and tennis shoes dolled up, but then again, I did do more makeup than usual.

But I don't care. He sounds like my father, even though my dad has never actually said anything like that, with the exception of prom. He's never here to say anything like that. He's always working. Even today, the day his first-born daughter turns eighteen years old. Crime never stops, I guess.

If I thought that the aura of fun was ruined a moment ago, it definitely is now, from everything.

Dad, Duff. Axl, not even having anything to say, or even just a smile for me. All of it.

"We look good! Good enough to ditch you two losers to go hang out with the fun bands! We're gonna find cool rock boyfriends, and they're not going to be nearly as annoying as the two of you," Michelle points a threatening finger at them both, her words like ice. She smirks then, her eyes flickering to me for a moment.

Good one, Michelle. As if! The one guy I actually want is right in front of me, and he's acting as if I just rolled out of bed and said "Ta-Dah!"

We watch Axl and Duff's faces both contort with the same expression, moving away from initial shock to downright anger. Brows furrow, jaws clench, and multiple glances are exchanged between them, almost like a form of silent communication.

I know what it is that they're coming to. And I won't do it.

"I'm not changing, and neither is Michelle. Not a damn chance," I protest. "Makeup stays on too! Who cares what we look like!"

I don't get it. Would they rather we didn't shower for a week and wear crumb riddled pajamas that haven't seen anything but the T.V. set?

"Who cares?!" They speak in unison again, rhetorically.

"For your information," Duff starts, "We're opening for Mötley Crüe tonight-"

Michelle and I's collective gasp is enough to cut him off.

All summer, we've been playing the hell out of the "Girls, Girls, Girls" vinyl we both split the cost of. That thing is nearly worn into the player upstairs in my room right this second!

The Crüe is no Guns N' Roses, they're entirely different, really, but they're good. Maybe none of them are anywhere near as hot as Axl, but they've got talent for sure.

"I can't believe you neglected to tell us this sooner," I scold, completely confused as to why this is news right now.

I can't believe I'm going to see Mötley Crüe play tonight. Oh. My. God.

"Can we meet them? Please?!" Michelle presses her hands together in prayer. "Oh please, Duff, let us meet them for just a second, you know how much we love their songs-"

"Absolutely not!" Duff snaps.

"If only you knew what we did," Axl laughs haughtily, shaking his head. He almost seems. . . Annoyed.

God, he hasn't been genuinely bothered with me in a long, long time.

"They had to have their bus fuckin' fumigated because of all the crabs they've got-god, no, you're not going anywhere near them."

"It's our set, and then back home," Axl says, also putting his foot down.

We'll see about that.

"And the crown and sash are stayin' here. No buts, or we'll go right now-"

"Fine," Michelle and I both sigh, defeated.

I hate it when he does this. Uses his power over us, the forces he's possessed our whole lives. Back while Alice and both my parents all worked, in the days before my sister Layla was born, Duff babysat Michelle, me, and a toddler version of my brother Shawn. He uses the same tone he used to now, and it's just as annoying over a decade later.

I frown as I carefully take the crown off my head, Michelle releasing a couple stands that get caught as I raise it off my head. Then goes the sash, just as I see Duff reach for the tissue box on the end table near him.

No, no, no!

"Oh, come on," I groan. "I said-"

"Blot, both of you. I know how this makeup shit works, sweetheart! I used to slather it on back in the L.A. Guns and Hollywood Rose days. There's pictures to prove it." Duff extends a very long arm, two tissues between his fingers as they poke through the slits in the staircase.

We begrudgingly lean forward, taking them from him.

"Yeah, and we're way prettier than you ever were," Michelle retorts.

Agreed.

I fold the tissue in half, Michelle mimicking my movements as we both press down, leaving cherry colored kiss-marks on the otherwise perfect white material. At least half the Revlon color I painstakingly applied is gone, leaving what's probably a faint tint of red on my lips now.

What a waste.

"Good. Now let's go. We go on at nine."

No one says another word as Michelle and I both toss our tissues in the kitchen trash, and I set the tiara and sash to rest carefully on the mahogany dining room table.

My mother has no qualms or cares as Duff makes me call out to her that we're leaving now. She doesn't even tell me when I need to be home, or take a peek at us before we step through the door. She simply says "Bye!"

Outside, the heat is already diminishing as the sun sets farther and farther down in the deep purple sky. In the distance, there's quiet sounds of pop! and bang!, families still trying to use up their large firework packages from the grocery store.

Eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen!

"And don't tell anybody it's your birthday, Chassy," Duff says.

I stop, mid-step then, on the paved path that leads down to the sidewalk, where Duff's van is parked.

"You haven't even wished me happy birthday, not once."

I stare at Duff's back until he turns around, arms coming up to take me between them.

"Happy birthday, doll. Really, I mean it. I'm just stressed, this is a big night for us as a band, and I wanna also keep you 'n Michelle safe at the same time. You've never been on The Strip at night, Chas. It's like a whole other world."

I stare at the grass, my hands flat against Duff's back. "You're an asshole."

"I know. But there's way bigger ones where we're about to go, and I love you too much to let them lure you, or Michelle in. And letting you wear a bright ass crown that says 'I'm legal!' wouldn't be very older brother-y of me."

"You're so lucky that I love you too."

Duff releases me, and I'll admit it, that helped. At least he got the hint and said it. He was nice, even for just a moment. That's more than I'll get out of Axl. For now, at least.

I don't expect him to say or do anything, not so long as we're around other people.

There's too much risk. I know it, and he knows it. We're at the point where it's difficult to keep straight faces, even right now as I pass by him. Not to mention, if Michelle says she can constantly feel the energy between Axl and I any time we get close, then surely it can't be far off from Michael, too.

God forbid. Just because as of today it would be all good and fine with the law, doesn't mean it would be with the guy who's the older brother I never had.

But even without words, I know Axl is still sweet too, underneath his own feelings of terror at my outfit and aesthetic choices.

He probably thinks I look good, irrational fears of his set aside. I give it an hour or two until I hear his true thoughts. I'd bet money.

I can't help it as I smile to myself a little as I get into the van, after catching Axl glancing at me again, even if it is for a fleeting moment.

It was something, and something is better than nothing.

Duff cranks up the radio the second we get on the main road, driving to the freeway entrance that takes you towards Downtown Los Angeles.

As I watch Duff drive, fingers tapping the wheel, Axl making him laugh in conversation I can't make out, I realize they've left their hard-ass ways back in Pasadena.

Michelle must too, because she speaks first.

"What makes today's show so special? Other than the guest of honor," She grabs at my arm for a second, making me slap her hand away.

Duff's hazel eyes look into the rearview mirror, at us in the backseat. "Like I said, we're opening for Mötley. And we're thinkin' that with their new album, we might be able to convince their manager to pull some strings and get us on their lineup, as an opening act on their tour."

"A dude from Rolling Stone is also gonna be there tonight," Axl chimes in. "Doin' the very first press write-up on Appetite, and an interview. We got the call this morning, and it should be in next month's issue, right before the record drops."

"That's so cool," Michelle marvels.

I'll admit it, all of that does sound incredibly exciting. I feel the same adrenaline that I did the day they got signed at Geffen, and the band rode down the street in this exact van, hollering out every window with the contract in hand. Like the stakes are high. And yet, Michelle and I are being thrown in on top of it tonight, extra baggage to worry about.

I decide that I'll be on my best behavior, from this moment forward.

They're stressed, and Michelle and I are only making it worse. Duff has anxiety, he always has, and I know that. Him and Ax just want to make sure we aren't taken advantage of. I can appreciate that, but then again, I know that no matter how I look, Axl and Duff and the rest of the band will protect me anyways. They like to make things more complicated than they need to be. That's how they are. It's like the music fogs their brains.

"Where's Stevie, Iz, and Slash?" I inquire, staring out the tinted window to my right, at the crowded freeway.

"Prepping all our gear at the Whiskey, probably getting drunk," Duff answers as he switches lanes, the engine revving.

It gives me flashbacks to last week, when Michelle tried the same exact thing on this same exact freeway, and it was one of the scariest moments of my life.

"Speaking of getting drunk, I'm definitely gonna be by the time we go on, girls, so if you need somethin', I dunno how much help I'll be."

Is he joking? Is he serious? I can't tell.

Regardless, Duff's words scare me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I frown, staring at the back of his head. Just because he's laughing doesn't mean he's kidding. Not necessarily.

"That means that I can't play sober tonight, sweet Chasity Grace! I mean, I never can, but especially not now. Fuck, I might throw up-"

"Don't you dare throw the fuck up, Duff. At least give me enough warning to grab the wheel, or pull over. Jesus christ-"

"I think you guys need to calm down, and have a little faith," Michelle counters them both, crossing her arms over her pink tank-top covered chest.

I observe Duff and Axl as closely as I can, wide-eyed. I can feel their emotions seeping into me now.

Duff is so stressed he wants to throw up. He wants to get so drunk that he won't feel this way, won't feel anything. It's bad. This is bad.

I sigh deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose, the van still speeding down the freeway. Let me make it through this night. Please.

"Can we all just relax? Please, it's my birthday, and I just want to have fun, not act like this is the end of the world right now, on the freeway, while going eighty miles an hour."

I cannot even imagine what it probably looks like at the venue right now, with Steven, Izzy, and Slash. They're probably drunk already like he said. Surely terrified too.

It's complete and utter silence from the front seat, and the usual chatter-box next to me. So I continue.

"I mean really, you're gonna be fine, all of you. You've played the songs so much you could do it in your sleep. Hell, even I can, with my limited skill."

Duff's shared some of his expertise with Michelle and I over the years, a bit of drums, guitar, bass. I've always been more interested in it than Michelle, but I'd say that she's better at guitar, while I've caught on to bass more than she has. But still, both of us can't actually play anything of value. Except maybe all of Appetite for Destruction.

"And it's gonna be like Michelle and I aren't even there," I say mostly to her, my tone stern. "You're not gonna have to worry about us. We know you're going to do great, and we're just gonna be happy to even be there, out of the way."

Michelle raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say "are you sure about that?"

"We just want to support you guys, seriously. We know what you're capable of, and you should too. You've made it this far, after all."

I'm surprised as Duff sticks his hand behind himself, reaching to squeeze mine for hardly a second, all while he drives. "Thanks, Chas. You two have always been our good luck charm, you know that?"

"Yep." Michelle and I's voices sync, not a waver of doubt present as we agree with Duff.

We exit the freeway now, easing onto the streets of Downtown Los Angeles. The sky is dark out the windows, lit streetlights lining both sides of the road, which is populated with cars. But still, traffic moves quickly, a rare feat in Los Angeles during the summer.

We are lucky tonight.

The tall skyscrapers that are normally a distant view most days are close now, just blocks away. As Duff said, I've never been on Sunset Boulevard past sundown, except to go to Tower Records. I know that it's close though, once we start to pass by more and more groups of people walking on the sidewalks, all different types of people. Young ones, older ones, groups of all guys, all girls. Ones who walk in high heels and short skirts, their hair done high. Men in leather jackets and biker boots, with patches all over their sleeves.

When Duff makes a right turn and eases onto a vast expanse of road, the lanes widening, all the lights instantly brighter, everything changes.

It's all bars and concert venues, tattoo shops, diners, record stores, and little boutiques. Motorcycles and cars are at every meter, all the small parking lots at capacity. The sidewalks are crowded, reminding me of the mall with how packed together people are. Every pole and metal surface is covered in paper, flyers for all different bands and events being advertised. The signs that hang from every window and building are brightly colored, all blurring together to create long streaks of neon. It's considerably louder too, music pouring out of every open door and car around us, all the different songs playing at once to create a type of theme. One that's upbeat and makes me feel excited.

Things happen here. This is where Guns N' Roses started, where they got together. Back home, in Pasadena, I only get to see parts of them. But here, they're in their element. This is their world, and I'm finally about to be immersed in it.

Michelle and I are just as impatient as each other to start living out this night, that we've already unclicked our seatbelts as Duff parks on a corner, outside a packed bar.

Him and Axl both get out, and Michelle and I practically tumble onto the curb, following their lead. When we look at each other, my eyes boring into hers, we both smile nervously, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I can't believe we're here."

"Neither can I."

People walk by quickly, caught up in their own conversations. The air no longer smells clean and open, the scent of cigarettes and exhaust seeping into my pores. It wakes me up a little, makes me more alert to the somehow perfectly integrated chaos happening around me.

When we fall into line, blending into the crowds walking every which way. I just follow the guys, letting them blindly lead while I marvel at all the sights around me, the people and stores and commotion.

After crossing the street, we stand in front of a red building right on the corner. The Whisky A Go-Go. The white marquee is lit up, black letters looking huge from this angle.

"TONIGHT:

MOTLEY CRUE

GUNS N' ROSES

SOLD OUT"

The line is wrapped around the block, leading up to the entrance on the side of the building.

"Are we gonna have to stand in that?" I ask quietly, worried.

There's so many people I'm not sure how they're all going to fit inside.

"Of course not," Axl shakes his head, looking back at me.

Axl pulls me along with him, Duff and Michelle ahead of us. We go past the entire line of people waiting-hoping-to get in. We walk right up to the front, where a bouncer stands in all black, towering over all of us except Duff.

And as if it's nothing, Duff shakes hands with him, gestures to me, Michelle, and Axl, and then the guy is stepping aside, letting us enter into the dark ahead.

Inside, it's already packed, and up on the stage, I can see the black banner with the Guns N' Roses logo hung up, everything assembled for the guys to go on soon.

Quickly, we pass by a wall of red leather booths beside the bar, each one of them packed with people. These directly face the stage, and the crowd assembling in front of it. A staircase leads up, probably to another bar and more seating.

Right beside the stage is a door, one marked "BACKSTAGE ACCESS". An older man paces in front of it, one who looks like he doesn't belong in a place like this. His slicked back hair and polo shirt are too proper.

But the words that come out of his mouth? They're the opposite of what I'd expect.

"There you two are! And you brought groupies with you?! I thought I told you guys, no sluts allowed in the dressing rooms, it's distracting for everybody!"

A hand is gestured towards Michelle and I, one with a strong conviction. It's threatening, and makes me look to Michelle, who appears to be just as shocked.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Alan," Duff retorts, narrowing his eyes. "These are my fuckin' kid sisters, for God's sake. My pals. My girls! They're not fuckin' groupies! I told you they were comin' tonight. I guess you're just so old, you fuckin' forgot."

Alan. . . I've heard that name before.

"This is our manager. A shitty one, at that," Axl side-eyes Alan.

Oh yeah. Him.

Alan tries to get a word in to defend himself, but Michelle beats him to it, making his jaw snap shut the second she speaks.

"I'm not pleased to meet you, but I'm Michelle."

"Forgive me-"

"I'm Chasity, and I'm not pleased to meet you either."

I feel Duff's hand clasp my bare shoulder, him forcing his way between Michelle and I. "I think you owe 'em an apology, Alan. We can fire you again. Done it plenty of times before."

Alan appears to sweat, practically quivering underneath Axl and Duff's stone cold gazes, Michelle and I's not far off as well.

"If I had known, I would've never of said anything like that. I'm sorry," He says, arms raised in defense. "Now can you please go talk to the kid here from Rolling Stone? He's already milked all he can out of Slash, Steven, and Izzy."

Duff doesn't release Michelle and I as we pass through the threshold, officially away from the eyes of the public as we head down a long hall considered backstage, towards the only open door. Familiar voices pour out of it, and at first glance, I'm pretty sure I see Mandy Brixx.

"Duffy, hi!"

Her eyes see right past Michelle and I at first, fixated on Duff the second we enter the room.

The first time I met her, I thought she was insanely beautiful. But today, I think the same thing, only tenfold. The vanity lights behind, and on either side of the room only do her good, blonde hair teased high, eyes popping from her makeup.

"Hey, Mandy!"

"And Chas and Michelle are here!" She rushes forward, taking me into a hug first.

"Hi! Happy birthday!"

"Thank you," I smile wide, appreciating her energy. It's a breath of fresh air.

"Hey, hurry up, Mandy, I've gotta say hi to the birthday girl too!"

I can't complain as Steven steps in, patting me on the back. Even though I'm pretty sure he's drunk based off the beer on him, he's happy just like Mandy.

"Happy birthday, Chassy! You're so old now, fuck, I can't believe it! Do you feel older?"

I laugh at Steven's question, which only makes him laugh too.

"No, I don't. I thought I would, but I've been babied all day," I tell him while I look at Duff.

Next is Slash's turn, and Izzy's. The two of them seem so out of it already that I'd consider it alarming if I didn't know their history.

Fading back to observe after we're greeted by the whole room, Michelle and I settle into a corner, across from the one Duff and Axl sit in, with the godforsaken Rolling Stone Guy.

Alan-who's now nowhere to be found-wasn't kidding when he said he was "the Rolling Stone kid."

From all the way over here, I can hear his upbeat tone, one that totally contrasts from Duff and Axl's low commentary that I can't make out. The Kid can't be much older than me. His voice is animated, talking fast while he shoves his tape recorder in Duff and Axl's faces. A bright red Rolling Stone press pass and an expensive camera hang from his neck. He's even wearing a Guns N' Roses t-shirt, the same I have at home. One that was a limited run, something you'd only be able to get if you're like me, in kahoots with the band, or know someone who is.

It's like watching a kid talk to their idols-how Michelle and I would probably be if we met somebody like Madonna, or Prince. Duff was the one who turned us on to him, years ago.

"Their livers are going to give out," Michelle comments, tone hushed. "I've been counting."

We witness Duff pour the bottle of Smirnoff that rests on his knee over his clear shot glass, throwing his head back. Axl continues to answer the Rolling Stone Kid's question, neither of them paying any mind.

"And that's his fifth. We've only been in here for ten minutes, Chas."

I recall his earlier words. Duff's promise of getting plastered, basically a cry for help. His way of voicing that he feels out of control, even though he's already halfway through the interview he was worried about, and they're going to take the stage soon.

My eyes wander around the room, to where Mandy is talking with Izzy.

Surely if we both know about Duff, she does too. His worrying. The way he gets through it. Can't she see he's stressed right now?

All I know is that if it were Axl, I would've been giving him water already, and dumping every vodka bottle in this building down any available drain.

"What do we do?"

"I mean," Michelle pauses, pursing her lips. "I'd hate to embarass him. Also, what do we really know, Chas? We only see him when he's at home. This is the first time we're stepping in his and everyone else's space, they're not in ours. Maybe this is. . . How he is a lot. I don't doubt it. His stage fright has always been bad. Remember that talent show?"

Duff threw up that day before school, back when we all went to the same one. Just kids.

"Yeah," I nod, instantly feeling sad as I observe him sighing deeply, hands wrapped tight around his vodka bottle.

She's right. It's just a shock to us because we rarely see it. Just because if I had the same amount I'd be passed out doesn't mean he can't handle it. He's an adult, fully formed. Twenty-three, as of this past February. Mandy's probably not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

I even notice Axl frequently sipping what looks like Coca-Cola, but I know there's Jack in it. There's no way there isn't.

"Tell me why today is turning out to be weird, Michelle."

Weird as in not what I expected. I don't know why I told myself that all that would happen tonight would be sunshine and rainbows, like a fairytale. We go to the gig, everyone's in high spirits, everything is absolutely wonderful, the show is fantastic. I get a kiss under the stars-I don't know.

It's all just weird. Off.

Michelle turns her head at me when I rest my own on her shoulder, my eyes craning up into hers.

When she shrugs, and my head goes up with it, we both laugh. Her trying to cheer me up.

"Being an adult can't be all fun. Or maybe it can. You tell me, you're the eighteen-year old here."

As a thought occurs to me, one I had earlier, I bypass Michelle's most recent comment. "You know what else?" I'm sure to drop my voice to a whisper, still right beside her ear, my cheek on her spaghetti strap. "I miss Axl. I'm never alone with him. I mean, you've seen him today. He hasn't even spoken to me. I know he really can't with everything there is to risk, but it makes me bummed. . ."

I can't stop once I've started.

"I'm always sharing him, with everybody. I'm about to share him with five-hundred people soon, in a matter of minutes. I can't just talk to him whenever I want. God, all I want is his attention, Michelle. I miss him, I constantly do, and I don't even want to fathom that anyone else gets his attention, while I can hardly see him the way I need to. I know that makes me selfish," I admit. "But I'm just sad. It's my party today, and all I want is him."

Michelle grabs at my arm, squeezing me. Bringing me back to Earth.

It doesn't work.

My mood sinks like an anchor as I think, eyes moving to where the Rolling Stone Kid laughs at something Axl says.

"Chasity," Michelle sighs, voice teasing. "You're not gonna get any answers by whispering to me, now are you?"

"You're gonna have to talk to Axl about all that."

"Talk to Axl?" I repeat.

When trying to imagine that, my mind draws a blank. I can't see anything-because that idea sounds so outlandish. Talk to Axl?

I suppose I've become so content with bottling up my feelings and leaving them to rot these past few months, with everything that's happened.

"Yes, talk to Axl," She murmurs.

"You make it sound easy," I scoff. "It's not, Michelle. Nothing ever is," I whine, my complaining voice on display.

Michelle doesn't react in any way. Both of our eyes look to where Rolling Stone Kid is frantically shaking Axl and Duff's hands, their interview concluding.

When she sighs, my head moves with her body once more. "Oh, Chas. I'm so sorry, really. I hope you get to spend time with him tonight. Talk to him. Maybe kiss him, ha! But I'll see what I can do, okay? I want to talk to that guy," She says, referring to Rolling Stone Kid. "And see if there's any openings, an internship, something. Remember all the help I did on the yearbook those couple years?"

I nod, recalling Michelle's phase with a camera. A lot of her shots of the football team, candids of people on campus, all of them ended up in our school's yearbooks. Her work wasn't bad. In fact, she was really happy about it. I could see her doing that again, except as a living.

It's perfect for her, really.

"Maybe I'll flirt with him, butter him up. He seems so dorky, it'll work. And hopefully Duff will want to chaperone, meaning you'll get a few seconds with Mr. Rose, over there."

As much as we annoy each other constantly, Michelle always comes to my rescue. She doesn't even complain now, when I'm positive her shoulder is asleep because of me.

"Thank you, McKagan. I love you tons, you know that, right?"

She pats my head once, twice. Gently, just barely. It makes me laugh. "Of course, Chas. I love you too."

I don't get a chance to make another joke, because then, Alan suddenly appears, bursting through the door.

"They're riled up out there, you guys gotta go!"

What happens next is crazy.

Slash, Izzy, Duff, and Steven all down the rest of their drinks, like they can't swallow fast enough. Meanwhile, Axl scrambles over to the mirror, looking at himself, fixing his hair, even though it's already perfect. Cigarettes are extinguished, guitars are grabbed. Michelle and I watch it all.

"Chassy, what should we play?!" Duff's voice is loud over all the commotion.

"What?! You don't know what you're gonna play?!"

I sound panicked, because I am. Both because of them not having a set list, and I can hear the slur in Duff's voice. Oh my god.

"We never know," Steven comments.

"It's your birthday, you pick!" Duff urges. When Alan starts to shuffle Duff towards the door, he gets defensive. "No, Chassy needs to tell me what she wants to hear-"

"Duff, I don't care, just play good, okay?"

Don't fall over, don't throw up, please. God help him tonight. God help us all.

Out in the hall, we walk quickly. Steven's drumsticks bang loudly against the cinderblock walls.

"Chas."

I turn to look at Axl, reminding myself that I can't explode right now, in front of everybody, just before he goes onstage.

Calm down.

"Yeah?"

"I paid off the security, they're gonna help you and Michelle get in the front row, okay?"

"Okay."

It's all one big blur as Alan cracks the backstage door just enough for Michelle and I to fit through, to get out into the fray. Two security guards wait outside, the same ones who escort us through the crowd of hundreds, right up to the front of the dark stage. My heart beats fast throughout, intensifying as the cheers and whoops behind and all around us get louder, people impatient.

It's funny, because when Axl, Duff, Steven, Izzy, and Slash all run out, lights turning on the second the opening riff to "It's So Easy" starts, Michelle and I act as though we're mega-fans. Screaming at the top of our lungs about girls in their Sunday dresses, jumping, dancing. Like we weren't the first people to hear the song after it was written by Duff, like we don't know the band at all. All our cares and worries melt away, everything from just minutes ago. Only the music matters.

Like groupies. Maybe Alan was sort of right.

We know all the words, after all. Song after song, the entirety of "Nighttrain", "Anything Goes." Even "Heartbreak Hotel." The band is tight, my fears of too much alcohol or stress not even relevant as they hit every note, every beat, right on time. Each of them are in sync, bodies and minds on the same track. I become positive that anyone, someone, from Mötley's team has already approached Alan, insisting Guns N' Roses become their opening act. I know in my heart that the Rolling Stone Kid is peeing his pants, camera shutter clicking away, already giving each song a score of five stars.

I feel the heat halfway through "Out Ta Get Me." All the bodies packed into such a small space make it feel like the tropics, a humid heat. Axl must sense it too, combined with the stage lights beating down on him as he moves all over, running and spinning, mic stand in his hands. He stops after the last note plays, peeling his shirt off, throwing it to the ground beside Steven's drum kit. Girls scream, me included.

"This next song is a new song, and we've never played it live before," Axl's voice echoes into the microphone, deep. "I hope I don't fuck it up, because it's one that's very special to my heart. It'll be on the record, our third single. It's about a girl, of course."

Axl looks at me for a fleeting moment, long enough for me to catch it.

"I could go on and on about her all night, but the song sums it up, really. Let's hit it."

I watch Axl's energy shift right before my eyes. His voice was booming earlier, now it's tender, crooning into the microphone. He stands still when he's not swaying around, or leaning on Slash and Izzy as he sings.

Sings about me.

Somehow, I manage to get through it without crying, unlike the first time I heard it. On the outside, at least. On the inside, I'm a mess. Losing it, completely. Practically up onstage with Axl, begging him to never let me go while he "oh-oh-oh"'s and calls me his. His Sweet Love, His Sweet Child.

It's right now, my thoughts overwhelmed, my chest swarming with so many feelings, ready to burst, that I think up a thought I never have before while Axl beams out about Where We Go Now.

I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him.

I think it over and over, not stopping, not wavering, even as my song, Sweet Child 'O Mine ends. Not even when Axl uses a white, clean towel to wipe away some of the sweat glistening down his front, on his forehead. Not even as I recognize "Don't Cry."

I think I love him. I love Axl.

The rest of the concert, I'm there, but not really. My eyes become glued to Axl, like they're only capable of seeing him. Ears, too. Only hearing him. The rest of the band mellows out, becomes like static, quiet snow. It still allows for me to listen to Axl's howling and screaming and murmuring and moaning and groaning.

After Rocket Queen, Axl tells the crowd goodnight, that Mötley Crüe will be out shortly. The lights go dim as the band shuffles offstage. The crowd thins, an accordion pressing out, everyone gaining personal space and breathing room again.

It's a wonder how those two security guards find us, but they do. As everyone else heads to the bar, Michelle and I are taken back to the dressing room. I'm quiet the whole way, except for my heart. It's quick, steady thuds don't falter, still going at the same pace they were out there, in the front row. Even as we settle back into our chairs we claimed earlier, chilled water bottles in hand while everyone else picks their poison of choice.

Everyone except for Axl.

He stands in front of the mirrored walls, light bulbs catching on his adam's apple as it bobs with each huge swallow he takes. Downing one whole water, then two. Some of it misses his mouth, gliding down his chest, past his sharp jaw. Easing through the muscles of his abdomen, the V of his hips.

Next to those overwhelming thoughts of love come others, ones much more obscene, but I can't stop them just the same.

Last time I saw him like this after performing, all messy and shirtless, the only thing I wanted to do was kiss him. But now, if we were alone, I'd want him to take my virginity, like this. Make love to me. Here in this dressing room, backstage. On the night of my eighteenth birthday. I'd beg him to if I could, right now.

My skin feels hot as my eyes widen, a reaction to hearing my own thoughts.

I don't even have the guts to tell him something like that. He'd probably laugh at me. Not take me seriously as I professed how I think I love him, even if I did just learn so tonight. Minutes ago.

I love him. I just know it. I do.

My eyes dart all around the room, looking at everybody in their own groups, talking and drinking. Michelle's left to go see the Rolling Stone Kid out in the hall. It puts me on edge when I realize that I don't see Axl amongst anyone. He's still standing on his own, gaze pinning me down from across the room.

"You okay?"

I nod once at Axl's mouthed words, unable to ignore the way his head is tilted slightly, almost in curiosity.

"Are you sure?"

I watch him laugh, hear it, too. It makes me nervous.

"Yes," I insist. I nod again, vigorously now. Just thinking about what it would be like if you bent me over the couch near you, that's all. . .

My heart sounds like an alarm, still working ridiculously hard for no reason as I watch Axl maneuver through the room, stepping aside all the people and obstacles in his way. Beer cans, guitars, chairs. Until he ends up beside me, looking down.

"Somethin's going on in here."

Axl softly taps the top of my head two times with his index finger, making me laugh.

"I know it. I'm telling you, I have a sixth sense for these types of things." Axl's smile fades as he shifts towards seriousness, his voice dropping from a normal volume. "What's wrong Chasity Grace, huh? What are you thinkin' about?"

If the orgasm I had in my sleep would feel the same as the one I'd have in real life.

Unable to even form words, I simply shrug.

Axl pulls up a chair next to mine, before turning to face me, legs spread. His leather covered knee touches the side of my thigh, making me nearly jump.

I have to force myself to look into his eyes the way he is with mine, gather up the courage. Courage to compose myself.

"Eighteen looks so good on you, honey."

When I don't say anything to that, Axl keeps at it. I let him.

"I swear, you're growing up so fast," He drawls, fingers finding their way back to my hair. "You're so beautiful. Every bit of you. Happy birthday, baby."

"Thank you," I say. My voice practically quivers like my whole body wants to, all my muscles tense so Axl can't see how he makes me. Weak.

A lock of hair still twirls between his fingers, the gentle tugging spreading up to my scalp. Practically making my thoughts even worse.

I'd probably let him pull my hair. Michelle says that that's a thing some people like. I think I would if it was Axl doing the pulling.

"Axl?"

"Mhm?" He hums, movements stopping as he looks at me.

I love you.

"I wanna be alone. With you," I confess. "Right now."

A sly smirk melts onto him at that, sweetness still there underneath it, though. "Aren't we? We're practically invisble."

We both look out at the room, absolutely no one paying any mind to anything.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"I wanna be even more alone with you." I can't tell if it's the thoughts of love or the thoughts of sex talking. Both, probably. Especially as he sits here, half-naked.

"Please."

Five minutes later, I'm sitting in a fire engine colored booth while Mötley Crüe plays across the club, far away from our corner spot, out of sight.

"One Jack and Coke," Axl tells the waitress over the sounds of Girls, Girls, Girls. "And a Shirley Temple."

The second the waitress is gone, I'm scooting closer to Axl. My hands grip the sparkly tabletop as the backs of my mostly bare thighs drag along the leather, inching my way into Axl's space. I'm only satisfied when I'm close enough to be attached at his hip.

That's when I slide my arms around his neck, pressing a kiss there, the first kiss in such a long time. And then another, on his jaw. His skin smells like musk, the good kind. I practically get drunk off of it, all of him.

I'm kissing him in public, and it's fine. For the very first time.

I don't protest when Axl takes my chin in his hand, bringing my mouth to his without a word. I clutch onto the hem of the t-shirt he wears again, groaning against his tongue as it eases along mine.

While Axl pulls back to breathe for a second, we both realize that the waitress is setting down our drinks. That she has been, for a few seconds now.

It makes me laugh as I watch Axl's disorientation play out. My own head spinning as he mumbles a "thank you" that he can hardly speak.

When he grins warmly at me, I do the same back before grabbing at the fizzy, pink glass in front of me, taking a sip. Lemon-lime soda mixed with bright grenadine syrup. Something I've only had a few times, a drink my papa used to make Shawn and I when we were little and would visit New York. What I told Axl I wanted the second we sat down.

"You know," I pick up the maraschino cherry that rests on an ice chip, biting it off the stem. "I can tie these."

Axl pauses, his glass pressed against his lower lip like he's about to drink. His teeth are pearly white as he grins, instantly thinking I'm bluffing.

I can just tell.

"I'll show you, give me a second," I laugh before swallowing a big gulp of my Shirley Temple, a wave of nostalgia hitting me. I pop the cherry stem into my mouth, concentrating hard.

Just because I said I can, doesn't mean I do often. It's been years.

I catch Axl staring at me as I manuver my tongue, trying to remember the muscle memory I had built up back when I discovered my aptitude for this party trick. With Michelle, in an ice cream parlor. We were fifteen, eating banana splits. She dared me, and by the grace of God, I figured it out. It's a wonder I didn't tell anyone, really.

Axl's look is smug as he watches me. I don't take my eyes away from his as I finally smile, stem between my teeth. In a knot.

He lights up, instantly. Eyes wide, like he's just watched magic or something. "Holy shit-"

"I told you, didn't I?" I throw the stem down onto the table, in front of us.

Axl oogles at it. "Baby, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"Oh, shut up."

"It is! I swear to God-fuck, I didn't know you could do that."

"You do now," I smile around my straw, feeling coy. For once, I'm surprising him.

Axl swoops me up then, wrapping his warm arms around me, practically bringing me into his lap. Vince Neil screams in the background, crowd following suit as we kiss. It's almost as if they're cheering for us. At me, for my bravery.

The rest of Axl's band is in this building, right now. Any of them could see us, stumble by. And yet, I don't care. I can't.

The flavors of my sweetness meddle with Axl's bitter jack and coke through the open-mouthed kisses. It's saccharine-makes my heart swoon. This is all I've wanted, all day. Exactly what I was thinking of while I was whining with Michelle earlier.

No presents. No cake. Just Axl.

When I peck Axl's cheek, he squeezes my waist tighter, sighing. A content sigh. I can tell.

"You're so bad, Chas."

Giggles leave me as I bury my face in his neck, in his hair. "I know."

If only you actually knew, Axl.

I grip Axl's shoulders tighter while trying to ignore the fantasy I concocted earlier as it comes back, flooding me. The one about the dressing room.

"I feel like a sinner in church," I confess, eyes shut.

Axl's laugh reverberates in his chest as he pets my hair. The vibrations spread through my flesh, into my veins. It goes right to my heart, instantly.

"You're my little sinner in church," He affirms, still laughing. "But don't you worry, baby. There ain't nobody around to see us."

"Thank Christ."

"Amen."

I'm not sure how long we spend in our small world. Enough time for Axl to order a second drink, me to down the rest of my shirley temple. To kiss, a lot more. My mind races. I love him. I want to be even closer. Even more alone. My inner voice is so loud as Axl holds me against him tightly.

"It hurt, but it wasn't too bad," He says in regards of his tattoo, the same one I noticed hours ago.

I hold his forearm, tanned skin between both my hands. With it still being so new, it's red on the edges, skin still adjusting. I run a finger over each end of the purple and yellow cross, where every member of Guns N' Roses is represented by themselves as skulls. Axl is the center, Slash below, Izzy above, Duff and Steven on either side. A waving, yellow banner hangs over them all, reading "GUNS N' ROSES".

It's official, no matter what happens. The band is eternal now. Like a blood oath, right here on Axl's arm.

"It's gonna be the album cover. Geffen's already approved it. They're sending the design to the factories on Monday," Axl goes on, hushed.

"I love it," I tell him. "I do. But why is Slash's hair straight?"

The two of us laugh, it filling me up.

"'Cause the guy who did it was afraid he would fuck up Slash's curls! Man, I was scared after he told me that. But do you really like it? Do you think I made the right choice?"

"Absolutely," I confirm. "I love it. It looks so good on you. I love all your tattoos. Even miss Monique," I poke the woman on his bicep, smiling. "And I know that it'll look just as good as the album cover."

Axl takes himself out of my hold, only to lace his hand with mine. When his face gets real close, I know he's about to say something serious.

"That means a lot to me, Chas. You always believe in me, in the band. Thank you, honey."

"It's my pleasure."

Axl throws down a ten on the table once we get up after I badger him about needing to go to the ladies' room.

"You really don't have to go with me, Axl," I shout over the sound of Vince Neil saying goodnight to the audience. "I can find it. I don't want you to lose the table-"

"I'm not lettin' you wander around all alone, honey. It's fine. C'mon."

I can't help but feel like a baby as I let Axl lead me about thirty steps away, right outside the men and women's bathrooms. The general area is incredibly crowded, people going in and out of both doors, passing by to get to the bar area. It's chaotic, sure, but nothing that's too much. I just nod as Axl tells me he'll wait for me right where he stands, against a wall.

Inside the bathroom, the air is smoky. Cigarettes are lit and women stand talking. Some wait in line for stalls to become vacant, like me. Others are at the three sinks, crowding around. Fixing their hair, makeup, outfits.

After washing my hands, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, among all these women in their high heels and tight dresses and painted faces and long nails.

Next to them, I look like a little girl. Small, standing out, only because of how plain I present in comparison. My hands pick at the black cotton stretching over my arms, below my shoulders, pulling them up a little. Rubbing at a few mascara flakes, the redness etching my cheeks that won't go away, the flush from my imagination and Axl's touch. Patting at my chocolate colored hair, it being no use with how big and wavy and frizzy it always seems to be, the concert air making it worse than when I left the house earlier.

But still, even in here, where there's no traces of men-Axl-in sight, nothing to do with him, really, my brain can't stop with it's insisting, it's newfound belief that it whispers to me like a prayer.

I love him. I love Axl.

I carefully manuver my way around the room, trying to get out so I can go back to him. In a rush, even though I know he's not impatient. At least not now. He isn't going anywhere.

I miss him. It's been five minutes, and I already wish I was back in his arms-

"Oh, sorry!"

On my way out of the bathroom, the red swinging door nearly hits me in the face, my feet jumping backwards my only saving grace.

The culprit is a girl with blonde hair that's slick straight. It practically sticks to her head, her eyes a dark brown. I think to myself that she's beautiful, in a way I rarely see. She wears no makeup it seems, eyes just naturally wide, teeth white as she smiles.

"Sorry!"

Her accent takes a moment to register, one I've only ever heard on T.V. before. British.

My eyes also fall onto her shirt, the same Guns N' Roses one Rolling Stone Kid and I both own.

It takes less than two seconds for me to notice all these things, the same amount of time it takes for us to maneuver around each other, her heading in, me heading out.

She's obviously not from here, not with that accent, but yet she has a t-shirt less than a hundred L.A. residents own. Strange. . .

I wonder about it, mind floundering back and forth from possibilities on the manner of that girl until I realize that Axl isn't in sight, despite how much I scan back and forth, my head turning in every single direction.

"Looking for somebody?"

Anything I was about to say goes out my head and splat onto the wall beside me as I look up.

Nikki Sixx's perfect smile flashes, his dark eyelashes batting as he looks at me.

I gulp, not prepared for this, despite having had hours to potentially gather my thoughts. I don't even think, really, as I stare at his spiky hair and tanned face.

"Uhm, oh my gosh! I'm a really big fan of your newest album, that's embarassing to say, but it's true, I am, and I know that you're the main writer for the band, for Mötley Crüe. You're so talented!"

At first I feel stupid, dumb as I blurt it out, my brain mush from all the events of the night, and it not even being over. But when Nikki's face lights up, gasping, I forget.

"Awh, that's so cool!"

Oh my god. Duff is such a liar! Axl, too, even though I love him. Nikki is nice. He's cool! What were they even talking about when they said we shouldn't go near them?

"What's your name?"

"I'm uhm-" Not Axl's girlfriend, I can't tell him that, I can't tell anyone. Not Duff's sister, that makes me seem lame. "I know the band. Guns N' Roses. I'm Chasity."

"Yeah, me too! I'm Nikki, by the way, even though you already know that. Did you watch the show? They're pretty sick, right?"

That makes me remember what Duff said, about possibly getting the chance to tour with Nikki's band.

"Oh! You know what? I know I just met you and all, but I really think that your band and Guns N' Roses would do so well together on a tour! The crowd you guys pulled in together tonight is crazy," I say as I have to dodge a couple of guys who stumble past, their plastic cups full of beer sloshing over the sides, onto the floor. "I'm not sure if you've heard any of the studio material from their first album yet, but they've all come up with some really great, fresh songs that I feel like you could appreciate, being a dedicated musician yourself. I'm a bit biased," I tell Nikki, looking away from his face as I go on. "I'm very close with the band, but really, they'd just compliment the Crüe so well on a tour. . ."

For some reason, my voice trails off the second I look back to Nikki, eyes transfixed on him as he does a full body scan on me. Everything from the white tips of my shoes to the top of my head. It's blatant-he doesn't try to be subtle as his head moves with his gaze. Like he hasn't even been trying to pay attention to me, at all.

"When you say you're 'close,'" Nikki says as he takes a step in, looking down at me now. "Do you mean you're dating one of them?"

"What the hell are you doing with my girl, Nikki?"

Axl's voice makes the wind knock out of my chest. It's loud and aggressive over the rock music playing over the speakers. The same voice he uses during It's So Easy. The intimidating one.

Axl steps in front of me, forcing himself in front of Nikki, acting as a human shield.

"All I did was ask if she's fucking one of you," Nikki laughs. "I've never seen her before. She looks like you plucked her right out of the local highschool. She's cute, though."

All I wanted was to tell Nikki that I liked his album, and try to secure the band a spot on their tour. That was it. Now look.

Nikki peers at me over Axl's shoulder, who's now snapping back at him.

"She's none of your fucking business."

The situation both escalates and dimishes the second Vince Neil joins his band mate, walking up like he's in a hurry.

"Hey, Nik! The girls are waitin' out back in the limo!"

Vince puts an arm around Nikki, attempting to pull him away from the scene. It doesn't work, not on the bassist of the band. He looks back at me once, twice, three times as Vince walks him off. He even winks.

That sets Axl off.

"Keep him in fuckin' line Vince, or we're gonna have problems!"

The lead singer just laughs, pushing Nikki ahead of him. "Wouldn't want that, now would we? See you, Axl!"

It's not long before they're gone in the crowd, not visible to the eye anymore.

I'm still processing the entirey of what just happened when Axl starts to interrogate me.

"Where the hell were you, Chas?!"

"I could ask you the same thing! I was looking for you."

Then Axl begins to pull me away with him, by my waist. He presses me into his side, his own version of a leash.

"Where are we going?! Don't follow them, please, Axl-"

"We're leaving," Axl grumbles, footsteps picking up in speed. He disregards anyone in the way as we barrel through the crowd. "Before I rip Nikki's fucking head off-"

"What about everyone else?! We came in Duff's van-"

"My car's in the parking lot, Izzy and Steve drove it here and I've got the keys. So don't you worry about it, baby-"

"I am worrying about it, Axl. You need to calm down-"

Axl stops then, staring down at me as he shouts. "I can't calm down, Chas! I won't, not until you're far, far away from any other men, from fucking Nikki!"

I can't even try to reason with him, not as he makes a beeline for the double doors, taking me right with him.

The line is still long outside as Axl makes us hurry past it, holding my hand now. It's a total contrast to the independence and freedom I felt less than half an hour ago, back in that booth with him. Before Nikki Sixx had to hit on me.

Nikki Sixx hit on me. He actually did. He called me cute.

I can hardly process it, let alone know how to feel. Not attraction, that's for sure. I love Axl. Even now, as he still mutters about how he still wants to make Nikki bleed.

I have to squeeze my lips together tight, almost wishing I had a needle and thread on me to really make sure I don't say anything else stupid, or try to get him to calm down.

Like how he's the only one who does anything for me. How I only care about him. That he shouldn't even worry about what Nikki did. Yeah, it makes my skin crawl a ljttle, but I don't like him. All I need is Axl. All I want is Axl. And isn't that what's important?

I can feel the night breeze across my bare shoulders as we walk through the parking lot, looking for the Camaro.

Well really, Axl is, and I'm just trying to keep up.

It only annoys him further, not knowing where his car is. Every parking spot is taken, and it's dark, no streelights nearby. But sure enough, despite Axl's swearing and sighing, he finds it.

The locks to the passenger's side click loudly as Axl turns the key, before opening up the door. I get in with no protests.

It's silent after he loudly slams his door, the sounds of the Strip distant behind all the metal and glass surrounding us.

I look to the dash as I open my mouth, knowing that I shouldn't, but I do it anyways.

"I just don't know why you're so upset," I shake my head, recalling what I thought just a moment ago. "I don't care about Nikki Sixx. Yeah, I listen to his music, but I don't care about him. Not like how I care about you. Really, you should know by now that you make me insane, Axl," I confess. "I can hardly function when I'm around you because of what you do to me, and-and you've hardly even done anything-"

I demonstrate my words as I feel Axl's lips against my cheek, one of his hands moving over my leg, into my lap. My breath gets heavy, immediately. The entire atmosphere in the car shifts, and my head clouds over, surprise and desire filling me all at once. Unsure of what's about to happen, but wanting it nonetheless. Oh my god.

"Don't stop," Axl urges deeply, nipping at my lower lip.

On command, I let the rest spill out.

"I'm yours, Axl," I breathe. "I think about it all the time, how I just want to be yours, and be as close to you as I possibly can-God-"

I watch Axl unbutton my jean shorts with one hand, using his thumb and index finger to unhook the denim. In my hair, I feel his other hand stretching the strands, running through them. "You wanna be mine, baby?"

"Yes. Yes."

"You are mine. All mine." Axl rasps.

He kisses me sloppy, hand in my hair gripping so tight it makes me cry out at the same exact instant his whole other hand dives into my shorts, making my legs spread far apart.

"Oh God," I grab at his wrist as I look down, the sight so foreign it makes me wonder if this is just a dream. Another one, except it already feels so much better-it's real. His hand is warm and huge right over my core, pressing into me.

The laugh that leaves Axl is dark. "That's right," He grunts, fingers moving on top of lace, the only thing in between him and I. "I haven't even done anything yet, and you're already a mess. I can feel how wet you are, baby."

"Please. Please, Axl."

My head falls back against the seat as he leans over me, tongue running over my lower lip and kissing me all over. At the same time, I feel his touch where I never have before, rubbing me, making my hips buck against his hand.

"I'm gonna make you cum, baby, for the first time. Right here, in this parking lot. You're gonna scream so loud that every fuckin' guy is gonna know that you're mine."

I moan loud as tingles spread through my whole body at Axl's words. The pure filth he speaks into existence, words I've never heard him say out loud before. Absolutely dirty.

"Please," I repeat over and over into his mouth, in between kisses. My nails dig into his muscled forearm, right into the new tattoo.

Somehow, Axl pulls back from my mouth the exact second I begin to feel overwhelmed. He sits up, watching me writhe before him, hand still working out of sight.

I stare into his eyes through heavy lids as pleasure explodes in my middle, racing through my legs, pouring into my shouts and moans. Gushing out, onto Axl's fingers.

When he tugs them up, out of my shorts, I can hardly process the sight of him sucking his own fingers, groaning loud as he does it. Shocks still run through me, whimpers falling out of my mouth as Axl's eyes flutter shut, tongue running down his index finger.

"You taste so good, baby. Just as sweet as you look when I make you cum."

My mind still has trouble catching up as I taste myself on Axl's lips and mouth. I feel swamped with the pleasure-pleasure of all of it. It makes my legs tremble more than they already were, the phantom feeling of Axl's hand on my body, his lips, his smell. Him, all of him.

I love him. I love Axl.

"Happy birthday, baby."